I take a long sip of my drink, pushing back on the question forming in the back of my mind: If Kennedy had bid on a date with Jake, would she have invited him up afterward? Would he have said yes?
The thought pisses me off more than it should.
“Hello? Earth to Cameron.” Kennedy digs her elbow into my side. “Did you hear what I said?”
“That you like Jake’s mustache?” I ask with an arched brow.
She frowns in confusion. “What? No. That I ran into Gigi at the game.”
My blood runs cold at the sudden topic change. “What?”
She takes a sip of her drink, her expression totally neutral, drawing out the suspense. “Outside the locker room. She introduced herself as Gigi, short for Giulia. Fitting, since Giulia Tofana was one of the most prolific female assassins in history. Killed over six hundred men.”
“And?” I ask, voice sharp and gritty.
“And they arrested her after a failed poisoning attempt was reported. She was more of a savior if you think about it because?—”
“I meant with Gigi.”
“Oh, that.” She drops her shoulders and heaves out a dramatically long sigh. “Long story short, I told her we were together and that she’d be a ho if she broke girl code and continued to pursue you.”
I blink, then blink again, as fascinated as I am horrified. “You called her a ho?”
Kennedy huffs. “No, I didn’t call her a ho. I said shewould bea ho if she continued to set her sights on you even after I staked my claim.”
“Staked your claim?” I ask, lips twitching. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation, considering Kennedy’s lack of social anxiety givesme,someone who never shies away from confrontation, anxiety.
“Yes,” she says, completely misunderstanding my rhetorical question. Or maybe ignoring it altogether. “You know, like put my stamp on it, claim my turf, set up shop, sow my wild oats?—”
“That last one definitely doesn’t mean what you think it means.” I bark out a laugh. “But I’m glad you avoided bloodshed.”
“Oh, she definitely wanted to claw my eyes out,” she reassures me with a pat on the arm.
“Davies, stop flirting and help me rack ’em up,” Jake calls out, their game apparently over.
He winks at Kennedy, and to avoid lobbing a pool ball at his head, I grab two pool cues and look away. I test the weight of them before handing Kennedy the heavier one. I’ve never actually seen her play, so if she sucks, this should at least give her a little control over her shots.
I chalk the tip of my cue as Jake prowls around the table like a lion on Animal Planet. Lord knows what he’s looking for, but he spots it a moment later and gives a satisfied nod. He lines up his shot, and the break cracks, sharp and clean, although it’s barely heard over the Rolling Stonessong flowing through the speakers. The balls scatter across the felt, and two with stripes drop into corner pockets.
Not a bad opening shot.
“Your turn.” Jake waggles his brows at Kennedy. “And try not to tear the felt.”
She flips him off, then twirls the cue stick like she’s a damn Jedi. As she gets situated, surveying the layout like it’s a puzzle, I can see the disaster unfolding. She’s holding the cue way too high and loose to do anything but injure someone—most likely herself.
“Not like that,” I mutter, low and gruff. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
She bristles, ready to argue, but before she can, I step in close, chest brushing her back, hands covering hers to adjust her grip. Her fingers are small, smooth against my calluses. She stiffens briefly, then softens, relaxing into the position.
“Dominant hand here,” I instruct, guiding her. “Other hand makes a bridge.”
She tilts her head, trying to follow, but her eyes keep darting to one side. I lean down, my mouth close to her ear, and force myself to keep my tone steady. “Kennedy. Are you listening?”
“No,” she admits unabashedly.“I’ve never noticed that tulip tattoo on your arm before. It’s pretty.”
I want to saythanks, it’s my mom’s design, but the words get stuck in my throat.
She shifts, turning to get a better look at my outer forearm, but I move a hand to her hip, stopping her. “Bend at the waist. Keep your eye on the cue ball, not the one you want to hit.”
